


But even the moonlight becomes you

by Minya_Mari



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: A girl is displeased, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 07:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2420612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minya_Mari/pseuds/Minya_Mari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For who could ever forget a girl from such noble means?</p>
            </blockquote>





	But even the moonlight becomes you

The cannals are all but quiet once the sun drifts back over the horizon, and a girl thrives in the night.

She is not particularly tall, for she is still growing, nor is she particularly pretty; her features are still much too long and exaggerated for her thin face to do her any justice.

But the night takes away the judgement that sight gives others, and those that are chosen only know the taste of her steel, not that of her lips as she gives them the Gift. A girl wipes the blood from her blade with her dress and squints at the wakening sky. She will have to return soon, a girl thinks, and pushes the old, fat man's jiggling body into the still waters by the walkway. The eels will make quick work of him; and if they don't, well, who is there to care?

A girl's footfalls make no sound as her boots step upon the cracked and uneven stones that tile almost all of Braavos, and she is quick and focused on getting back to the House of Black and White before the sun burns brilliantly across the still-dormant sky. The kindly old man will ask her two questions when she returns to them, and a girl will answer just right, but not entirely with honesty. For who could ever forget a girl from such noble means?

The doors to the sanctuary open, and a girl enters with feather-light steps; only the creaking of her leather boots and the swishing of her skirts give her away.

The kindly old man has his back to her now, but a girl knows that he is well aware of her presence in the room. Her stupid, groaning boots have given her away, if anything.

"Is your task finished?" Comes the old man's warbling tone, and a girl nods, steel eyes as hard as the blade at her hip.

"Yes."

The kindly old man turns around to face her, and the only sound she hears is the scrape of rough fabric on even rougher stone. He says nothing for minutes, simply staring at her, assessing and making judgement in the lame light of the dying candles. A girl does not think that she even hears him breathe.

The kindly old man's eyes give nothing away as he asks of her, "Who are you?"

A girl doesn't hesitate as she responds. "No one." She bites out, and internally curses herself for leaving that edge to her tone.

The kindly old man's mouth pulls down in a deliberate frown, and a girl bites her lip. "Liar," he says. "You are Arya of House Stark, and that is all you'll ever be."

A girl lets loose her lip and grinds her teeth instead. "I am no one," she repeats, her voice controlled and soft. "And that is all that I want to be." The kindly old man considers her for a moment, and for a second, a girl thinks that he has believed her lie.

But then, a pleased almost-smirk appears on his weathered face and a girl clenches her hands in frustration. "Rest here a night, Arya Stark, and leave in the morning to Happy Port with a new face."

A girl doesn't frown, though her confusion demands it of her. Instead, she asks, "Who will I be?"

The kindly old man smiles sweetly, and a girl does not trust it one bit. "You will be Eilir of Lys, and you will learn three things from the men that travel from Westeros."

A girl nods, but does not move from where she stands. The kindly old man waves her away before turning his hunched back to her. "Leave and rest, Arya Stark."

Arya of House Stark grits her teeth and goes.

 

 


End file.
